Diary of a Teenage StudMuffin
by xSnickersx
Summary: Maybe my bunny slipper is being held for ransom! I can see someone like Pansy using my most capacious weakness against me in order to receive artificial love to satisfy her girly lusts!
1. Broomsticks and Gay Rumours

**Diary of a Teenage Stud-Muffin**

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**Author's Note: **Please know that this is COMPLETELY and TOTALLY random. I couldn't sleep one night and _voila! _Crazy Draco appeared. I'm sorry if it's confusing at times. That's pretty much all I have to say… hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **As lovely Draco will undoubtedly tell you, I own nothing of his perfection. :-)

**Summary:** Draco Malfoy is just another confused teenager with a crazy diary. He's a bit more… interesting… than other boys, however. A quirky story based on Draco's true, but wacky feelings.

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Tuesday, September 17th: 4:17 P.M. -

Confound it all.

Who gets a _diary_ for their 17th birthday? Honestly, who does he think I am? A bloody poet? Am I supposed to start expressing my _feelings_ and weep in adolescent agony over flowers?

Must all Death Eaters be insured with a stupidity license?

Oh. Just realized that I am a Death Eater. But I don't fall under that particular category! You don't see _me_ coaxing Voldemort into playing spin the bottle when his latest plan to murder Potter was foiled…. Or giving a perfectly sane student a diary because he believes that I, Draco Malfoy, am not in touch with my emotions?

I am perfectly in touch with my emotions, thank you very much. For one thing, I am feeling an emotion that hints quite strongly that SEVERUS SNAPE IS A BLOOMING IDIOT!

I suppose you'll want to know what happened then.

Well, TOO BAD! I'm much too busy moaning with teenage angst at this insult to my self-esteem. And my perfectly pale hand is going cramped. Poor me.

5:57 P.M. –

After making Pansy and two other hot Slytherin girls soak my aching hand and listen to me complain, I have regained some of my dignity.

STOP READING OVER MY SHOULDER PANSY!

(Writer abandons station to quarrel with pug-faced girl)

And people say _I'm_ stupid. Pansy just yelled that she wasn't reading over my shoulder, thus proving my point. The flies in her head must be going crazy at that amount of work. I say, reading! Most difficult for her.

Had to satisfy the girl with a kiss before she would leave me alone. Jeez. Girls are getting harder and harder to please these days. They should feel lucky that my gorgeous frame even acknowledges their presence.

In case you haven't noticed, diary, my features are perfection itself.

Oh, Merlin. I'm talking to a piece of paper.

STOP MESMORIZING ME, OH OFFSPRING OF TREEES, WITH YOUR GLISTENING WHITENESS AND TEMPTING PAGES –

(I did not just say that)

That's it; I'm chucking you into the fire. Farewell, evil temptress.

6:15 P.M. -

Curse Snape! If he wasn't already a Leglimens, I'd say he could read minds! He put an inflammability jinx on you! Prick.

I should've expected as much out of him. Surprising as anything, though the golden trio would never believe the scandals he's taken part in.

I mean to say – him and McGonagall! Who'd have thunk it? No one would believe it unless seen from first hand experience, as I had the ill fortune to oversee.

Seeing Snape's tongue in someone's mouth is not an easily forgotten sight, let me tell you, It's all coming back to me – this was third year, mind you – Snape taking off that disgusting red blouse, and –

OH MY GOD! HOW COULD I HAVE PUSHED THIS FROM MY MIND! I CAN NEVER FACE MINERVA MCGONAGALL AGAIN!

…I AM GOING TO PERISH IF THIS IMAGE DOESN'T REMOVE ITSELF FROM MY HEAD!

6:25 P.M.

Dumped head in toilet. Oddly refreshing. Of course, Nott had to walk in and tell me to move my plastered head because he had to piss.

Attempted to explain the trauma in which I was experiencing. Was given the advice to find some girl to replace McGonagall images. Though I kindly explained that was beyond the point, Nott only accused me of being gay.

Good friends are so hard to find nowadays.

Wednesday, September 18th: 10:05 A.M.

Crabbe and Goyle snore louder than giants. I politely inquired if I could slap them when this process began, but only received confused stares in return.

That's what I get for having friends with a lower IQ than a stuffed rabbit. Then again, if the standards were set above my intelligence, no one would make it. Alas, someday. Patience is a virtue.

Ate breakfast in the Great Hall. Was the object of Potter and Weasley's stares. I thought it was simply my good looks, but Goyle informed me that the gay rumor has reached Gryffindor house.

If anyone tells Voldy (The Dark Lord, that is) about this, I will poison their pumpkin juice. That's all I need is to have a plan to seduce Potter for Voldemort.

Although Potter's eyes are quite a turn-on. And his chest is quite muscular; I've seen him through the looking glass in the prefect bathroom –

THIS DIARY IS TURNING ME GAY! It's the association! They have a plan to make me gay; it's a plot, I tell you, a plot! It's because I'm so sexy and irresistible that all the male specimens became jealous of the attention I was giving to females! They then hatched this plan to turn me gay so they could have me all to themselves!

…was Snape a part of this?

1:45 P.M. In Potions – 

Renewed heterosexuality by snogging random Ravenclaw 5th year. She was desperate for more, but I politely reclined; going to third base without knowing the girl's name is something gentlemen such as myself do not do.

Anyhow, the child is hopelessly annoying; follows me everywhere. Good looks never come without a price, it seems. Sigh.

I'm avoiding the eyes of Severus Snape. After last night's vision and today's revelation, my stomach is quite weak; wouldn't want to set if off again. My organs are very delicate. Actually, anything of mine should be treated with special care.

Does Snape ever shut up? Just because I'm his favorite (and sexiest, if I do say so myself) student, doesn't mean I have to listen to him blabber on about love potions. He may need them, but I have no use for such things; my own skills far surpass any bloody poti –

2:04 P.M. –

Now, really. Just because he snogged McGonagall does not mean he has the right to reprimand me for writing in a diary he gave me.

Which I reminded him of.

Hmm. Maybe that's why he gave me detention.

Whatever. Like I don't have much more important things to worry about. Like my quidditch practice tonight. And girls. And… actually, that's it.

Maybe I'm missing something.

Homework? Hah.

Friends? … Need I answer that? Although their intelligence level is a bit unnerving.

Oh, but of course! The biggest problem of all!

My bunny slipper has a hole in it. Sniff.

What? Like _you've_ never had that problem.

7:07 P.M. –

Apparently, I have more to worry about than I thought. The main bit being my teams' sanity. Rather, _everyone's'_ sanity.

I was innocently making my way to the quidditch pitch, kicking first years on the way (I said innocent, not saintly), when someone yelled my name. Being the patient chap that I am, I turned to face my caller.

Guess who it was?

No, not the Jolly Green Giant. (I was disappointed as well)

No need to guess, though, seeing as I'm none too patient now. That midget who always carries a camera around in Gryffindor house. What was his name, again? Corry? Clankton? Colin? No, that's not it. Well, we'll call him "Mr. Fluff's," ok?

(Don't give me that look)

So Mr. Fluff's (that has a nice ring to it – much too nice for him) catches up with me and then – you won't believe this – says, "Hey, Malfoy."

I gave him a look that should have sent him running. When that didn't work, I asked, "Do I know you?"

The little twit continued grinning and went, "No. But I've heard all about you. I sometimes send in anonymous stuff – pictures and interviews and such – for the Daily Prophet."

Abandoning all pretenses, I stared at the kid. "And what," I glowered, "Is your point?"

"I was wondering if I could do an article on you."

Now, as any normal person would be, I was flattered. "What about?" I asked, maybe a bit too eagerly.

Okay, so maybe I was picturing a shirtless picture of me surrounded by Baywatch babes. Bite me.

Anyway.

And that bas – I mean, MR. FLUFF'S, responded, "Well, see, I've heard these rumors, and -"

Do you see where this is going?

To wrap it up, I screamed, "I AM NOT GAY!" kicked a tree (ouch), and slugged Mr. Fluff's before running down to the quidditch pitch.

I'm sure many of you are undoubtedly saying "Oh, poor Draco. How on earth could anyone practice under such devastating emotional blows?" I'm sorry, ladies, for the result with sorely disappoint you. But back to the poor, innocent me bit.

To which I heartily agree! Urquhart, my captain, was of a different mind. The annoying bloke merely told me to suck up my homophobic issues and get on a broom.

I swear the people around here. Their sensitivity is about that of a teacup. If they want to lose to the Gryffindors, that's their prerogative.

The entire practice was completely pointless. Crabbe and Goyle swung at anything remotely the size of a ball (a few heads were bashed – no harm done. Most of the Slytherins don't share my habit of beauty _and _brains).

Urquhart was practically in tears, which didn't help. A guy crying was, in no way, encouraging, even to the dimmer players. Our chasers ran into each other about three times each. The keeper was sent off early after banging his head against one of the goal posts (I personally voted for him to forget the blood gushing – there's nothing else inside there anyway).

I kindly told Urquhart that this practice might be better to end sooner than later, but he only scowled at me and asked me where the damn snitch was. When I told him there was no need for profanity, he threw the quaffle at me. _Really._

It is not at all easy to be good at everything in this world; people hate you for it.

I proceeded back to the common room with Crabbe and Goyle, who were quite proud of themselves for not swinging the bat at their own heads (I suppose they're improving). I'm heading down the prefects' bathroom for a bath. I'd better camouflage myself, or Pansy will want to join me. Even as a straight guy, that is just gross.

10:57 P.M. –

OH, MERLIN, I swear to anything, there must be some kind of curse on me. Some kind of sick curse.

I'll get this over with.

I was walking down the hallways to the statue on the third floor where the prefects' bathroom is located, as innocently as possible. I met no one on the way.

Then a cloud of doom lurked over my head. Why can't the cloud of doom, just once, be a girl?

A live girl, that is.

Yes. So. Moving on.

I muttered the password, and began to undress (there was no one else in there, keep your shirt on). Humming softly in hopes of a soothing bath, I strolled to the edge of the pool and sat down the test the water.

Strangely enough, my humming seemed to grow louder, though I wasn't humming anymore. I thought there must be some sort of enchantment, so I jumped up to investigate.

"Sweet death, swweeeet deeeeattth, claim me in thy cold flesh, take me to the depths of the U-beeeeeenddd…."

I almost fell over in my haste to find the towel, but before I could fully cover myself, **Moaning Myrtle** appeared at the doorway.

She screeched at the sight of me and sped over, fast as anything. Of course, I tripped over the blasted towel, and fall on my back. She giggled noisily and made to help me up; I, however, was already bolting out the door.

As if the situation could not have gotten any MORE mortifying, I sprinted out in the hallway, towel hanging open, hoping to meet no one.

But didn't I mention that Merlin hates me?

Who did I run into, but Albus Dumbledore.

It didn't take him long to figure out what had happened. He looked at me, chuckled, and said, "Do check the toilets before undressing next time," before shaking his head and walking away.

I must be the only sane person in this entire school.

Now, where the hell did my bunny slippers get to?

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**Author's Note: **Yes, well, that's it. If it's completely crappy, I'm sorry. Late at night, you know. Anyway, leave a review, please! 


	2. Where's Waldo?

**Diary of a Teenage Stud-Muffin:**

**Author's Note: **I'm back! So sorry for the long wait. I did say that I'd update while feeling particularly in a Malfoy mood. And I was! Okay, so in a three hour car ride to my aunt's house for Easter, there wasn't much else to do. Hope you like it!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Draco. He just occasionally inhabits my head and possesses me. :D

**Chapter Two: Where's Waldo?**

3:15 p.m.

So I've definitely decided that school sucks. Even a magical school has its limits. I mean, why can't they have subjects we care about?

Like 'How to Get Hot Girls' and 'What to do When Your Bunny Slipper Goes Missing.' Those are worthwhile subjects. Seriously, why do we need to know how to charm dishes clean, anyway? Eating off dirty dishes won't kill you.

Speaking of, I still can't find my darned bunny slipper. Sob. I didn't sleep a wink last night. It's always the left one that's missing. My poor bunny slipper, off all alone in the cold, harsh world with no one to protect it. It'll be missing my sexiness as well.

Maybe it's being held for ransom! I can see someone like Pansy using my most capacious weakness against me in order to receive artificial love to satisfy her girly lusts!

I must find my bunny slipper before any of my unhinged admirers decide to use this against me!

5:17 p.m.

Spent two hours tacking up bloody posters announcing missing bunny slipper. Included name and description of slipper, as well as my fondest picture of it.

The only part of the school I didn't tack it was anywhere around Gryffindor House. You know the girls there; they might buy me some new ones or something. Good help is so hard to find nowadays.

Gryffindors are such goody two shoes. And they'd coo over me or something. Honestly, does a bunny slipper really show weakness? I'm sure Merlin had a few bunny slippers of his own go missing!

But no. Those little details are kept private from the public. As though they were embarrassing! Well, I'm here to tell the world:

I AM DRACO MALFOY AND I LOVE MY BUNNY SLIPPER.

Er. Don't tell anyone else though. Hmm. Do you think the posters might be a hint that I care for my slippers too much?

Forget that. I can't think on an empty stomach. Time for dinner. Maybe I'll even get to see Potter, Weasley, and Granger then! Tee hee. Torturing them is fun. I hope Voldemort doesn't kill Potter. I'll have no one left to torture.

And then what is my reason for living?

7:34 p.m.

Bunny slipper still fails to make an appearance. I don't know what I'll do without my best friend!

What, like you don't confide in your bunny slipper.

… Don't give me that look.

How can journals give looks, anyway?

Yes, you're a journal now.

Not a diary.

Diaries are not manly.

Did I say that already?

Short term memory loss.

Or is it long term?

I forgot.

Tee hee, I'm killing trees with this spacing. In the absence of my bunny slipper, I am feeling vindictive…

Don't make me feel guilty!

…trees aren't alive anyway!

What do you mean, trees have feelings too?

Trees can't have feelings, they don't have a heart!

I do so have a heart.

I love trees. Really, I do.

All right, I'll stop killing them! Honestly, you're like a bloody conscience.

I just had an overwhelming desire to wear a tutu. Really. I mean, doesn't that seem kind of exciting? Wearing this frilly thing with awesome leotard-y material? And the name just has a nice ring to it. Tuuuu-tuuuuu.

I think I'm going to ask Pansy to borrow one.

8:03 p.m.

Pansy just looked at me like I was crazy. And then asked me if I had a fondness for cross-dressing. Whatever! I am so not a cross dresser. Or gay. I may be metro sexual, but I still have lusts!

…for girls.

I AM NOT GAY!

Guess what?

I'm giving you the silent treatment.

Yes, you heard me. _Silent treatment._

What now? –girly palm thing-

8:06 p.m.

I still can't find my bunny slipper.

How am I supposed to ignore you without my bunny slipper?

I suppose I forgive you.

Do you forgive me?

Wait, I'm perfect. There's nothing to forgive.

Right, so that's done.

But I can't sleep without my bunny slipper! (And I don't much fancy those ugly circles under my eyes Granger always has. Those are from studying anyway. How insanely boring. Wait. Maybe they aren't from studying. What if she and Weasley are...Oh no! BAD IMAGES!)

There's no other option then. I must declare a search party. Without my bunny slipper, I am nothing. Nothing! Is that a weakness? Oh well. My weaknesses are cute anyway. I bet all you girls reading this are swooning at my cuteness.

Okay, I need to get ready for such a strenuous activity. If I don't return, journal… make sure Pansy doesn't get any of my stuff. And make it known to the world that I AM NOT GAY. Thanks.

1:27 a.m.

Bah humbug.

No, I will not tell you what happened.

No matter how much you ask me.

Those innocent white pages will not get to me.

I will be strong.

I will take this secret to the grave.

Nope.

Not getting it out of me.

Okay, I think I've stalled a sufficient amount of time.

Is the suspense at its peak yet?

Good.

All right, I can tell you now.

Well, first I needed a stealthy disguise. I mean, what kind of detective doesn't have a cool uniform? My supplies were quite limited. But my outfit still made me look quite manly, if I do say so myself. My outfit consisted of:

-One of those cool skunk hats on my head.

-A crocodile skin vest.

-Leather pants.

-A green sock on each hand for protection.

-No shoes in respect for my bunny slipper.

Oh, and I had a tutu (stolen from Pansy) under all of that. Don't worry, I dyed it blue first. I do have the form for such a costume.

Does that sound sexy or what? I'm surprised the girls didn't come running. Sigh. Sometimes I just amaze myself.

Anyway. To the Journey. While hunching mysteriously outside the Slytherin Common Room, the urge to name my journey overwhelmed me. It needed a name!

The name came to me in a sudden burst of brilliance.

Not that I'm not always brilliant.

I am.

But this was just more brilliance.

It wasn't shocking or anything.

Just more brilliance. You know, the usual.

Anyway.

The name.

Wait for it…

"WHERE'S WALDO?"

Is that not completely appropriate? I mean, what better name is there? Not that I've named my slipper Waldo or anything. Well, okay, maybe I did. But it's a sexy name, right?

My creativity really should be celebrated.

So, my quest for Waldo began right outside the Slytherin Common Room. Being the smart chap that I am, I waited until after 9 to begin "WHERE'S WALDO?" and thus guaranteeing an empty castle.

Sometimes I just astound myself. In celebration of my brilliance, I decided to sing a song.

What? Like you've never sang a song in celebration.

Anyway.

Well, my song knowledge is pretty limited. Okay, very limited. Hey, I can't be perfect in everything.

Actually. Yes, I can.

I just choose not to.

That's it.

But my vocal chords are the definition of perfection itself. I can sing better than Madonna.

Don't ask me how I know who that is.

Which is why I can't understand how Peeves was laughing so hard when he passed me. Hmph. He's just jealous. I mean, after my rousing chorus of "Like a Virgin," everyone should be on their knees praising my musical genius.

Maybe that's why Peeves was on the floor.

I wonder why he was gasping for breath and slapping his fists on the stone tile? Maybe that's how people nowadays worship persons of brilliance such as myself.

Oh, well. I've much more important things to worry about.

Against my better judgment, I thought the library would make a round-off start. Like if Granger hid my slipper or something, because everyone knows she's a die-hard fan girl of mine. The library is just begging for slippers to be hidden between their shelves.

With my stealthy detective skills, I prowled all James-Bond-like through the corridors leading to the library. Those somersaults are actually quite dangerous. I have a huge lump on my head from somersaulting into the darned wall.

I suppose I looked quite sexily doing that though, as always.

Minus the running into the wall part.

Yeah. So, the library.

I skipped all of the boring bookshelves in the regular section. If you were going to hide a bunny slipper, you would put it in the Restricted Section, right?

Being the intelligent chap that I am, I assumed as much and headed to the restricted section.

What happens next might scar you for life, journal.

You can close your eyes; I won't hold it against you.

There really must be a plot against me. The establishment probably thinks that if they can sabotage my teenage years, I will be put into an asylum at a young age.

Well, I for one will not let that happen! I will fight against these scarring images, threatening to plunge me into insanity!

My sanity is fully in check, thank you very much.

What? I'm perfectly sane.

Back to the scarring images. Don't worry, journal, I'll try to keep the rating down, and keep the graphics light so not to offend your sensitive morals.

As I was innocently checking in between bookshelves, hoping not to see my poor bunny slipper being put through any type of torture in order for it to reveal information about its awesome master, my eyes were forever blackened.

Firstly, I saw Madam Pince. Nothing abnormal about that, is there? The librarian in the library. Nothing at all out of order.

Or so I thought.

I advanced to the next bookshelf, where another person came into view.

You'll never believe who it was, journal.

Brace yourself.

_Argus Filch._

How did I know it was our lovely caretaker?

See, it was bit difficult to distinguish him before his face came into view.

Why, you ask?

He was a tad bit unclothed.

As in, only wearing a pair of graying underwear.

It could have been innocent, right? Maybe the books had stolen Filch's clothes, like they had probably stolen my slipper. My sweet and sincere mind thought that.

Until Filch decided to talk.

"Madam, I believe my straight takes the deck. I believe that means you have lost this round."

And to get this all in perspective, journal, you need to imagine Filch's oily voice with a hint of eagerness.

Oh, my. My poor virgin ears.

I think you can figure out what happens next.

You know, I'm pretty sure strip poker isn't allowed at Hogwarts.

At least, it wasn't in third year, when I tried to organize it into a party.

I really don't understand why Snape was so mad.

He just wished he could see McGonagall in her knickers.

Bad Draco.

So, after that astonishing display, I decided the library might not be the best place to look. And if anyone had hidden my bunny slipper there, they would have probably been as grossed out as I was.

Unless, of course, they like to watch old-people porn.

But no one would harm a poor slipper's mind like that, would they?

As I exited the library, I saw a group of Gryffindors passing, with looks on their faces I can only describe as furtive.

Maybe they stole my bunny slipper.

Hah. They have so much more important things to do. You know, like being noble and saving people from fire-breathing dragons.

I never really understood that expression. Fire-breathing dragon. I mean, don't all dragons breath fire?

Except that stupid dragon that couldn't even manage to kill Potter correctly during the Triwizard Tournament. I should've paid the dragon manager more money. He was a friend of father's once.

Although I'm not entirely sure he took me seriously when I gave him the money, on account of how he was laughing so hard.

Whatever.

So my next stop was the prefects' bathroom.

Okay, so I didn't really expect my slipper to be in there. So bite me. I had to go to the bathroom. But I checked on my way there!

I already mentioned that everyone is mad jealous of me and all the plots against me, didn't I?

I bet it was that Ravenclaw girl that sent Myrtle after me. How was I supposed to know her name was Lauren? Nicole is basically the same thing, right? And did she really need to screech to the whole hall about how we were going out for three weeks and I didn't know her name?

Plus, I wasn't even aware that we were going out.

Girls are so picky.

But back to Myrtle.

So while I was taking care of a little business, that horrid ghost decides to burst in on me!

Hello, if I wanted a ghost to serenade me with my trousers at my ankles, I would have asked. Not that I'd need to ask. But I prefer the decision be consensual. It's part of my morals.

Yes, I do have morals!

Why do you keep distracting me?

Back to that horrid ghost.

Moaning Myrtle always has had a thing for me. I'm sure my good looks are a major part of it, but she's practically in love with me ever since I confided in her sixth year.

See how it is with girls?

One moment of weakness admitted to her, and what happens? She falls in love with me.

Girls are the oddest creatures ever.

They're probably really evil underneath.

You know, they have some kind of sick comfort in boys' weaknesses.

And as she swooped down on me, I had the sense to re-clothe myself.

Needless to say, she seemed disappointed.

But really. Am I going to lose my virginity to a _ghost_?

..Is that even possible?

Well, after she tried to hide her disappointment, she attempted to flirt with me.

I am not even kidding.

While I was on my quest for a bunny slipper, a ghost hit on me.

If this gets out, I'll never get Weasley to snog me.

When I say Weasley, I mean the girl.

Just so we're clear.

Not that you'd even think it was boy Weasel.

Or any of the other boys.

Because we've established I'm not gay.

Right?

Okay.

"I knew you'd come back to me!" She beamed at me.

Come back? This is the prefects' bathroom. Didn't she live in some girls' bathroom?

"Even though we have a bit of an unusual relationship, I felt it between us too," Myrtle said, running a transparent finger down the front of my robes.

"Er… relationship? Well, see – er – I've been looking for -"

Don't blame me for the stuttering. It's very difficult to be articulate when a ghost is describing a relationship the both of you had that you never knew existed.

I mean, come on. She's a ghost, for Merlin's sake.

Not that there's anything wrong with being a ghost.

It's just that I prefer live female companionship.

I might make an exception for hot girl ghosts or something.

Which completely excludes Myrtle.

But she obviously wasn't bothered by any of this.

Or she didn't know any of it. One of the two.

"Draco… I felt it right from the beginning: we were meant to be. And I've waited for so long… Being a ghost is sometimes an unfortunate disadvantage. But I can tell you want me for me," the unusually happy Myrtle grinned from head to toe at me.

"Want you for you?" Needless to say, I was completely struck speechless. What do you expect? I've no idea where she could even begin to think I wasn't repulsed by her. Maybe she thought I was playing hard to get.

_Really_ hard to get.

Thankfully, at that moment, the door banged open and someone stepped in.

I think this was the first time in my life I've ever been happy to see Potter.

Other than, you know, when I feel like tormenting someone.

I guess Myrtle seemed to harbor feelings for him as well, because she seemed absolutely delighted that we were both there.

"Oooh, my two favorite boys!" Myrtle squealed.

Oh. I guess she is quite fond of us.

Potter actually looked quite as freaked out as I felt. For once, it was as if we were united.

Shudder.

Anyhow.

We both sprinted towards the doorway at the same time. After we slammed it behind us, Potter put some spell on the door that made it unable to penetrate, even by ghosts.

Without one word of the crazed ghost with whom shared an attraction for both of us, he simply turned to be as if this happened every day.

The boy who makes me puke stared at me. "What are you wearing?"

"For your information, Pothead," I sniffed in a dignified way, "I lost my left bunny slipper, and I am on a search party titled 'WHERE'S WALDO?' So, unless you have any useful information regarding the party in question, kindly do not comment on my choice of clothing."

He just blinked at me for a minute, before bursting into laughter.

Humph. He's just jealous.

After the lesser of our number left (that would be Potter, in case your intelligence isn't as great as mine. For which, I wouldn't blame you), I knew that operation 'WHERE'S WALDO?' needed a good kick in the pants to get it moving.

And what better place to look, I thought, but Snape's dungeons?

There are plenty of muggy old hiding places in the dungeons. And it's so dark that no one would ever notice.

Maybe that's why I'm so pale.

Nah.

Why am I trying to figure out the source of my paleness? It is becoming to me, is it not?

To Snape's dungeons! Onward MARCH!

(What? I heard it in a muggle movie.)

I decided to abort the part of the operation that included somersaults as I made my way down to the dungeons.

Let's just say the black cloud of doom really seems to like hanging over my head.

Maybe it has a good view.

What am I saying? At any angle you look at me, I always look good.

Anyhow.

The first dungeon I looked in was completely devoid of anything other than extra cauldrons. I thought maybe the slipper was in the bottom of a cauldron, but alas, I was mistaken.

The second room was where things began to go wrong.

I heard a muffled voice through the walls.

_Aha! _I thought, _someone is a few doors away, torturing my poor bunny slipper! At last, the truth comes out!_

I'm sorry to say that, compared with what I saw, I would rather have found someone torturing Waldo.

I'm not afraid to admit it.

Cautiously, I crept around the dungeons, checking in every classroom for a commencement of the noise.

Unfortunately, I found one, in the shape of a man wearing a pink lacy bra and aqua marine underwear over an overlarge black robe with the engravings of the Slytherin serpent on the front.

You might have guessed already, Journal, but I'll tell you for the sake of conversation purposes.

Severus Snape was dancing on his desk, wearing women's' undergarments over his robes.

As I stood horrorstruck at the door, I didn't think it could possibly get any worse than that.

I guess anyone could tell me I'd be wrong.

(Choruses of "YOU'RE WRONG, DRACO" fill the room)

But I'm sexy anyway, right?

(Silence)

You're all just in denial.

And I haven't even said the worst part yet!

Prepare yourself for the worst.

You didn't think it could get any worse than that, could you?

Oh, humor me, Journal.

Thanks.

As I freeze in horror by the doorway, Snape attempts something of a juke, shaking his non-existent breast, and screeching in deafening tones:

"OOOOH GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN! YEEAH, GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN!"

What kind of school do I go to anyway? I'll bet Durmstrang doesn't hire cross-dressing teachers who dance on their desks singing "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." Or caretakers and librarians who play strip poker. Or hormonal ghosts to reside within its walls.

Life is so against me.

**Author's Note:** Drop a review! Thanks for reading.


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